Death of Mario
The Weight of a Red Hat
The silence of the hospital room was no longer the silence of anticipation; it was the heavy, suffocating silence of finality. The long, unwavering drone of the heart monitor acted as a cruel soundtrack to the sudden emptiness of the world.
Luigi was the first to move, though it wasn't to leave. He lunged forward, grabbing Mario’s shoulders and shaking him with a frantic, desperate energy. "Mario! Mario, stop it! The joke’s over! You’re—you’re just holding your breath to scare us, right? Like that time with the Bowser statue? Mario!"
"Luigi, stop," Saiko whispered, her voice cracking. She stepped forward and placed a heavy hand on Luigi’s shoulder. Her grip was firm, but her own eyes were hidden behind her pink bangs, tears dripping steadily onto the linoleum floor.
Luigi collapsed against his brother’s chest, his green cap falling off. "He can't be gone, Saiko. He’s Mario. He always comes back. He has extra lives! He has 1-Up mushrooms!"
"Not this time, Luigi," SMG4 said from the floor. He hadn't looked up. His voice sounded hollow, like he was speaking from the bottom of a deep well. "The doctor said... his heart just couldn't take it anymore. All the glitches, all the stupid things we put him through... it finally added up."
Melony didn't say a word. She remained frozen, her hand still hovering where Mario’s palm had been just moments ago. The word 'Father' still hung in the air, a confession of a bond that had transcended their weird, chaotic lives. To the world, Mario was a hero or a nuisance. To her, he was the man who had looked at a sentient melon and decided she was worth protecting. He was the one who had sat with her in the quiet moments when the grief for Axol became too much to bear, usually offering her a crumpled slice of pepperoni pizza as a silent peace offering.
Slowly, Melony reached out. Her fingers, usually so steady when wielding a blade, trembled violently as she picked up the red hat from the nightstand. It felt surprisingly heavy. She clutched it to her chest, burying her face in the fabric. It smelled like old pasta, gunpowder, and the faint, sweet scent of the star bits he used to snack on.
"He called me his little melon," she sobbed into the hat. "He was proud of me."
Tari walked over, her robotic arm whirring softly as she knelt beside Melony. She didn't have words—Tari rarely had the right ones for moments this dark—so she simply wrapped her arms around the younger girl. Tari’s blue hair was a mess, soaked with tears, but she held on tight.
Meggy stood at the foot of the bed, her hands clenched into fists so tight her knuckles were white. She was staring at Mario’s face—so peaceful, so still. It felt wrong. Mario was supposed to be shouting, or screaming, or running into a wall.
"We were supposed to have another training session on Thursday," Meggy whispered to the empty air. "I was going to beat his high score in the spaghetti-eating contest. I was going to... I never told him thanks. For the Splatfest. For everything."
Bob, who usually had a snarky comment for every tragedy, stood unusually still. He reached into his cloak and pulled out a gold-leafed tissue he’d probably stolen from a mansion, wiped his eyes, and then looked at the ground. "tHiS sUcKs. tHiS iS tHe wOrSt pRaNk hE eVeR pUlLeD."
"It's not a prank, Bob," Boopkins wailed, his large eyes overflowing. "Mario’s gone to the big kitchen in the sky! Who’s going to watch anime with me and pretend to like it now?"
The Toad nurse entered the room quietly, her expression one of practiced but genuine sympathy. She kept her distance, giving them a moment, but the clipboard in her hand was a grim reminder that there were procedures for the end of a life.
"I'm so sorry," she said softly. "But we... we need to move him soon."
"No!" Luigi screamed, spinning around. "You're not taking him! He just needs a minute! Give him a Fire Flower! Give him anything!"
"Luigi," SMG4 said, finally standing up. He looked ten years older than he had that morning. His eyes were bloodshot and his clothes were wrinkled. He walked over to his best friend—his brother in every way that mattered—and put his arms around him. "Luigi, look at him. He’s at peace. He’s not in pain anymore."
Luigi looked back at the bed. The tension that usually defined Mario—the frantic energy, the constant hunger, the manic joy—was gone. He looked like he was just having a very good dream.
Luigi’s knees gave out, and SMG4 caught him, the two of them sinking to the floor together. They stayed there for a long time, the creator and the brother, mourning the man who had been the sun their entire universe orbited around.
Eventually, the group began to filter out of the room, one by one. Saiko led a catatonic Boopkins by the hand. Bob followed, his usual swagger replaced by a slow, dragging gait. Meggy stayed by the door, her hand resting on the frame as if she couldn't bring herself to break the final physical connection to the room.
Melony was the last to stand. She was still holding the hat. She looked at the nurse, then back at Mario. With a shaky breath, she leaned over and kissed his forehead.
"I'll make you proud, Papa," she whispered. "I'll protect everyone. Just like you did."
As they walked through the hospital corridors, the bright fluorescent lights felt insulting. How could the world be so bright when everything felt so gray? They stepped out into the cool evening air of the Mushroom Kingdom. The sky was a bruised purple, the first stars beginning to twinkle over Peach’s Castle.
"What do we do now?" Tari asked, her voice small.
SMG4 looked up at the castle. He thought about the thousands of videos, the millions of laughs, the cosmic battles, and the simple afternoons spent doing nothing. He thought about the empty seat in the van.
"We go home," SMG4 said. "We go home, and we remember him. And tomorrow... tomorrow we figure out how to live in a world without a Mario."
"I don't think I want to," Luigi muttered, wiping his nose with his sleeve.
"We have to, Luigi," Meggy said, her voice regaining a spark of its usual strength, though it was tempered with grief. "Because if we don't, then everything he did—all the times he saved us, all the times he made us laugh—it stops. We have to keep going for him."
Melony looked down at the red hat in her hands. She placed it on her own head, the oversized brim falling down over her eyes just like it used to do to Mario when he was being particularly silly. She adjusted it, pushing it back so she could see the stars.
"He's watching us," Melony said firmly. "I can feel it. He's probably complaining that the stars aren't made of cheese."
A small, sad ripple of laughter went through the group. It was the first sound of joy in an eternity, even if it was weighed down by sorrow.
They piled into the van. The drive back to the Showgrounds was quiet, but it wasn't the panicked, frantic silence of the trip to the hospital. It was a heavy, shared silence.
When they arrived, the Showgrounds looked the same as they had left them. The trash was still in the corner, the lights were still flickering, and the half-finished script was still on SMG4’s desk. But the soul of the place felt different.
Luigi went straight to the kitchen. Without a word, he pulled out a large pot, filled it with water, and set it on the stove.
"What are you doing, Luigi?" Tari asked softly.
"I'm making spaghetti," Luigi said, his voice trembling but determined. "The good kind. The kind with the extra meatballs. Mario would be really mad if we went to bed hungry."
One by one, the crew joined him in the kitchen. Meggy helped chop the vegetables, her movements precise and rhythmic. Saiko opened the sauce jars, her strength making short work of the stuck lids. Even Bob helped, using his blades to perfectly mince the garlic with terrifying speed.
Melony sat at the table, still wearing the red hat. She watched them work, her heart aching, but she felt a strange sense of warmth. Mario was gone, but he had left them with each other. He had taken a group of strangers, villains, and misfits and turned them into a family.
As the smell of garlic and tomato sauce began to fill the room, it felt like a ghost was lingering in the corner—a ghost with a big mustache and a red shirt, nodding in approval.
They sat down to eat late into the night. They told stories. They talked about the time Mario got his head stuck in a microwave, and the time he accidentally defeated an interdimensional deity with a well-placed kick to the groin. They talked about his bravery, his stupidity, and his bottomless heart.
"To Mario," SMG4 said, raising his glass of soda.
"To Mario," the table echoed.
"To my dad," Melony whispered, clinking her glass against the others.
That night, Melony slept in the bunk above Mario’s empty bed. She didn't close her eyes for a long time, staring at the ceiling and clutching the red hat. She thought about the word she had used. It had felt so natural, so right. Mario hadn't been a perfect man, but he had been her hero.
In the darkness of the room, she heard a faint sound. It was soft, almost like the rustle of a cape or the distant sound of a "Wahoo!"
She smiled, a single tear escaping and hitting the pillow.
"Goodnight, Papa," she whispered.
The next morning, the sun rose over the Showgrounds. It was a new day, the first day of a new era. It would be hard, and there would be many more tears, but as Melony walked out of the room, the red hat perched proudly on her head, she knew they would be okay.
Because as long as they remembered him, the spaghetti would never truly stop spinning.
In the distance, near the edge of the forest where the light hit the trees just right, a shimmering figure in red stood for a brief moment. He wasn't pale or tired anymore. He looked vibrant, a golden glow surrounding him. He gave a thumbs up, his iconic grin stretching across his face, before turning toward a shimmering portal that smelled faintly of a fresh Italian kitchen.
With a final, joyful "It's-a-me, Mario!", he stepped through, leaving the world a little quieter, but infinitely more colorful for having had him in it.
Back at the Showgrounds, Melony paused, looking toward the forest. She felt a sudden, warm breeze brush against her cheek. She adjusted the hat, a determined look in her eyes, and headed toward the training grounds.
There were adventures to be had, and she had a legacy to uphold. The daughter of the Mushroom Kingdom’s greatest hero had work to do.